


Worthless Hope

by Tay (erentitanjaeger)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence, Canon Universe, M/M, Please Read Author Notes, brief mentions of sex, with little comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 13:15:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12233604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erentitanjaeger/pseuds/Tay
Summary: Worthless hope is probably the greatest weapon the Galra have learnt to use upon the human race.





	Worthless Hope

**Author's Note:**

> **PLEASE READ**  
> I'm not sure if dissociation is extreme enough to be in the tags as a warning, so thought I'd put it here. Shiro does dissociate in this fic. It's not touched on too deeply, and not in detail, but it's heavily implied.  
> If that's something that makes you uncomfortable, please don't read this.
> 
> Otherwise, I hope you enjoy probably my very first angsty fic with no real happy ending!!

This isn’t exactly what Shiro had expected to be doing with his ‘potential’ when he had enrolled at the Garrison.

The ship’s doors slide open, night air hitting Shiro in the face as he takes in the scene below him.  He sees dense vegetation, small lights flicker in the distance from his target destination, already cries of war can be heard over the hum of the ship’s engine.  He’s given the all clear to drop, and does so without complaint. 

It’s a long drop, but not his highest by far.  His glider will be enough; he’s not sure why they fitted him with a parachute.  He doesn’t question it, only lets himself land with a thud onto the forest floor and immediately takes his position behind a tree.  Pressing a button on the side of his helmet, an image appears on his visor, the map already displaying the area and best route through the brush.  Shiro sinks low and begins to follow the map’s instructions.

It's not long before the shouts and cries and shots fired get louder and louder.  There’s someone talking in his ear, relaying basic information.  Shiro thinks, in the back of his mind, that it’s pointless to tell him what his instincts and common sense already know.  Still, it’s to be expected. 

Crouching lower still, Shiro finally reaches the small camp in which he had been tasked with for this raid.  He turns the map off and activates his targeting system.  With a few more clicks, he’s granted permission to use his arm and the go ahead to move forward.  Shiro does so without discrimination.

From there, Shiro doesn’t see much, doesn’t take in much.  The gun he’s been given is merely a formality, his real finesse and weapon lies in his Galra-tech, right arm, which in-of-itself is enough of a threat to do most of his task for him.  The screaming and explosions surrounding him sound like he’s hearing them from underwater, nothing but dull echoes and vibrations. 

Within fifteen minutes, he’s pressing the recorder command on his helmet, relaying the image in front of him back to those on the other side of all this.  The camp’s inhabitants sit before him, fear written in their postures and expressions, sentries surround them on all sides. 

A tiny child looks up at him, recognises under his body suit and limited armour and helmet that he’s not the same as the others, wants to believe that he is different, and holds up a fist.  His mother shushes him, tucks the child under her chin to protect him from Shiro.  Shiro doesn’t blame her.  He is no different than the others, despite what their difference in appearance would say otherwise..

“The last of the GIDs have been placed and activated, Sir,” a sentry is addressing him, its bored and monotone voice knocking Shiro out of his daze and back into action.  “There were forty-three inhabitants.  Five resisted and have been punished accordingly.  Twenty-two will be placed into the Honerva System, sixteen have pledged their allegiance to the empire.  They will have their loyalty tested upon return.”

Shiro takes this all in, his visor letting him know the statistics of all this compared to their last raid.  It’s slightly better, hopefully it will be enough.  Shiro nods at the sentry, knowing anything more will be lost on its robotic brain. 

“Pack ‘em up,” he commands.

The sentry nods and turns to follow its orders.

“Well done, Champion,” a deep voice coming from his helmet speaks.  “This is another step forward for the empire.  You may return to home base to collect your payment and await further instructions.”

Shiro only nods, knowing the feed from his visor will show that he understood and acknowledged the command.

“Vrepit Sa,” the voice finishes.

Shiro sighs, his usual headache throbbing.

“Vrepit Sa,” he replies.

\---

Takashi ‘Shiro’ Shirogane  
Age: 25  
Rank: Commander  
Code Name: Champion  
Arm Model: 2023-R Swift

The human race is a delicate species.  They’re stubborn and selfish, and for the most part, incredibly daft.  They never deserved the planet they live on and, if global warming, war and famine didn’t rip them apart first, alien life surely would.

Shiro isn’t sure which one he would have preferred.

The Galra had showed up on Earth’s doorstep only a few years ago.  They had come hard and they had come fast.  Invading cities, taking continents, raiding cultures and societies.  Their technology was far beyond any human’s knowledge, and though most were at least open to the idea of extra-terrestrial life, it was another thing entirely for that life itself to knock on your door and tear your world apart.

Suddenly the world had to adjust from knowing very little about even the known universe, to accepting technology far beyond their capabilities. 

Not only were the Galra far more technologically advanced, they were vicious, violent and vain.  It quickly became apparent who the lesser species was, and the Galra sought to make this abundantly clear, pushing the human race back to the dawn of ages and succumbing them into slavery once again.  That is, until it became apparent of one thing.

Amongst the many, there were a few who remained to be seen as having potential, as being, not brave (the Galra only saw it as stupidity), but bold and defiant.  Rather than exterminating the planet, they implemented the Honerva System.  Though the Galra thought humans to be primitive and useless, upon the beginning of The Extermination, found that there were quite a few abled humans who, rather than trying to run, would offer to give up their lives if it meant saving the ones they considered dear to them.  The Galra saw promise in these humans, and decided to take advantage of this side of them.

Thus, they created the Honerva System, a rewards based system designed to manipulate and control the stronger of the human race.  Humans threatened with their own life were slightly useful, though threat the lives of their loved ones, and those willing to protect were even more so.  When trained, warped and moulded to their idea of a soldier, they found use within the human race after all.

Though selflessness was not a trait the Galra held dear, Shiro had to give them credit for finding a way to bend this trait of humans to fit their idea of obedience and devotion.

The fighter ship pulls into the base, what used to be the Garrison, Shiro’s home and place of study.  He tries not to dwell on those memories, on what was.  It’s painful and a waste of time. 

Nothing, ever again, will be as it was.

He climbs from the ship and heads toward the figures at the front of the large bay.  There are several sentries already walking past him, ready to collect the new-found prisoners and force them to their previously assigned locations. 

Shiro walks faster.

“Champion, good to see you’ve returned unharmed, for once.”

Shiro turns to see Sendak, his superior officer and a large, bulking Galra with an advanced arm that he wields over all as a sign of total power.  Most are too scared to go within swinging distance of it, until they find out it’s extendable and there is no real escape.  Shiro doesn’t know whether he’s grown used to the ever-impending threat of it wrapping around his throat, or he no longer cares if it ever will.

He doesn’t reflect too deeply on that train of through.

“Commander Sendak, Vrepit Sa,” Shiro greets. 

Sendak strolls right up to Shiro, towering over him.  Shiro doesn’t flinch.  He knows this a sign of aggression and dominance Sendak tries on every human; whether they work for the Galra or not. 

Sendak hands Shiro a plastic card.  It’s similar to a credit card, though bright purple and flashes neon along its edges.  Shiro takes out a device from his hip, one that a teenager might consider an advanced iPhone, though Shiro knows it does anything but allow you to play Angry Birds.  He opens an app, scanning the card.

There’s a muted beeping noise as the information is read and then displayed on his screen.  Shiro frowns, turning to Sendak, confused.

“Don’t look so petulant, Champion.  You should be happy,” is his version of an explanation. 

Shiro had very quickly learnt never to ask questions, only accept what he’s given and be ever thankful it’s not less.

“I am grateful,” Shiro amends.  The number on his screen is higher than what it should read for a mission of the calibre he just accomplished, though he’s worried what he did while spaced out to have earnt such a payment.  “Can I take a visit, Commander?”

For once, Sendak is the one who’s surprised. 

“Already putting your salary towards _that?_   There’s more you could do with a bonus of that size.”

Shiro is aware Sendak thinks this.

“I don’t tell you how to spend your pay-check.”

Sendak laughs, still unbeknownst to the ways of humans, and waves over a few sentries and a guard.  He informs them of Shiro’s decision and they lead him towards what Shiro would call a jeep, but knows the Galra call it something else.  Shiro climbs in, and they take off over the desert.

It’s dark out now, and being outside and not under gunfire means he can concentrate on the stars.  They’re pin pricks of light over the dark, desert sand, and the most familiar view Shiro still knows.  Though so much has changed in a very short amount of time, he’s glad to know the stars are forever constant; that there’s something the Galra cannot change, no matter how much power they think they may hold.

Out in the middle of the desert is a large tower, built solid and tall and lit from every angle.  It reminds Shiro so much of the prisons he would see on the sci-fi movies, back when movies were a thing.  He’s not sure why it’s so heavily guarded though, as he knows for himself there’s no possible chance of escape; from the inside or out.

He supposes it’s for appearance more than anything, to remind those encroaching whose territory they are on, whose reign they remain under.

Pulling into the Visit Centre is an arduous journey yet one Shiro knows well.  He shuts his eyes and lets most of it be lost to his constant habit of zoning out, of letting the world carry on around him.  He’s not exactly sure where his mind takes him during these moments, and he doesn’t dwell on it, only thankful for the brief moments he slips from reality to somewhere less than that.  He only opens his eyes and lets himself come back when the guard touches his shoulder, letting him know they have arrived.

Shiro climbs from the jeep and follows them through the halls, their footsteps echoing off the metal walls and high ceiling.  He passes door after solid door, all of them only a stride apart from the one before it.  He counts them as he goes, seeing the names written in Galran upon each one, wonders what lies behind them, what possessions, which ones might be empty, yet to be filled.

Eventually, he’s taken around a bend where the doors grow bigger and further apart, signalling to him the rooms behind them have grown in size. 

At door number 7089, the sentries stop.  The guard fiddles with a device attached to the wall, then offers it to Shiro.  Shiro looks at the number pad.  At first, his fingers fly over the ever familiar sequence.  2-0-0-0.  Twenty doboshes.  Then, as he’s about to confirm, he pauses.

He stares at the device, at the numbers blinking up at him, and the amount that will be deducted from his pay, and feels his heart constrict, already imagining it counting down.  He already feels light headed at the thought of it ending, already feels tired at the knowledge of what will lie after.  He sighs, deletes the numbers, and types in a sequence he’s never used before, 4-5-0-0, and hits confirm.

It takes another moment for the guard to attach the device back to the wall, where it takes in the information, and then finally, the great, metal doors begin to slide open.  Shiro already feels his breath quickening, his heart beating louder in his chest.  He feels like an excited dog lapping at the heels of its master after he returns home.

Shiro would take a moment to feel sick at that comparison, that the Galra have trained him a little too well, if it weren’t for the sight that greets him as the doors slide open wider still.

Large, deep blue eyes meet his gaze.  Dark hair curls around its owner’s face and seems stiff from a distance, but Shiro knows how soft it really is.  He knows the lithe frame wearing the Galra prisoner uniform, knows every inch and crevice of its muscles and bones.  Knows every freckle that hides under the collar.  What the fingers hiding beneath the gloves feel on his face.

He's ushered in, and when he’s crossed the threshold, the door begins to slide shut behind him, the high-pitched beep telling him their countdown has begun. 

“Keith,” Shiro begins.  “It’s good to see you.”

“Likewise, Takashi,” Keith replies.

As soon as they’re given the illusion of privacy, his arms are full.  Shiro wants to weep with how warm Keith feels, how solid and firm he lies in Shiro’s arms.  Shiro presses a kiss to Keith’s hair, runs his hands up Keith’s back and tightens his hold.  Keith returns the gesture, burying his face into the crook of Shiro’s neck, arms wound tight around his chest.

Shiro breathes, and for the first time in two weeks, actually feels the air pass through his lungs.

Their lips meet.  It’s hot and deep and slick as they don’t waste time with pleasantries, tongues diving to meet.  Shiro moans, gripping Keith’s head in his palm, using the other to hold Keith around his tiny waist.  He’s lost weight again, Shiro can feel, he’ll have to up Keith’s meal plan before he leaves.

Keith angles his head, nipping at Shiro’s lip, letting out a noise of desperation and desire.  Shiro makes a similar noise, deeper, in the back of his throat. 

Then Keith punches him.

“Ow,” Shiro says, and means it.  Keith, despite his lost stature since the Galra takeover and becoming a victim to the Honerva System, still had a mean right hook.  “What was that for?”

Shiro tried not to sound genuinely hurt, except he was.  Keith only frowns at him.

“Forty-five deboshes!?” His voice is demanding, brows furrowed in anger, though Shiro can see something else lying in Keith’s indigo orbs.  It’s something akin to gratefulness.  “How much did that cost us?”

Shiro had expected Keith to be a little shocked at the change in routine, but not angry.  He’s shy as he forces himself to meet Keith’s expression.  He can look a Galra soldier in the eye, and not even blink back, as he’s ordered to do tasks that would make his mother cry.  He’s trained himself to feel nothing as he stares a civilian down and pulls the trigger, yet Keith is still another being entirely.  Shiro can never truly lie to him, but their closeness and bond mean he never stops trying, never stops trying to protect him from further hurt.

“It’s not that big of a deal, Keith,” he tries to calm Keith’s anger. 

“We agreed, Shiro!  Twenty deboshes every two weeks!  So, we can save the rest and I can actually get out of here!”

“I know, Keith,” Shiro’s voice goes quiet, timid.  Maybe he should regret being so frivolous, especially with having no way to clear his decision with Keith first, yet he finds no regret in his decision.  “I just…”

There’s a long pause between them, a stretch of silence that fills the barren room.  Keith waits for Shiro to speak, waits for him to sort through his thoughts and emotions to find what he needs to say.  It’s something Shiro is always thankful for.

“I miss you,” is all he can say, the only way he can sum up his rash decision of spending more for just that little extra time with his lover.  “I miss you a lot.”

It’s not exactly an elegant reason, but even so, Keith’s expression softens in understanding.  His anger dissipates and his usual look, the one reserved just for Shiro, slowly returns.  Shiro knows Keith misses him too, that his anger is only misplaced frustration at the system; not at Shiro.  Slowly, Keith moves forward, tucking himself back under Shiro’s chin and leaning heavily against his chest.  Shiro winds his arms around Keith’s form again, holding the lithe body tight and resting his cheek on Keith’s fluffy hair.

“I miss you too,” Keith says, voice thick with tears Shiro knows Keith won’t let spill.  “It fucking sucks.”

Shiro almost snorts in amusement at Keith’s eloquent explanation of their current situation.

“It does at that.”

Keith pulls back to place another soft kiss on Shiro’s lips, which Shiro returns, a sigh escaping him as he does.

When Keith lets their lips separate with a soft pop, his eyes notice Shiro’s arm, the bionic one, the one that all Galra soldiers were fitted with upon entry into the army.  He gives Shiro a questioning look, confused as to why his arm is still in motion even though Shiro’s mission would have ended hours ago.

“Promotion,” Shiro explains curtly.  “My arms remains operational outside of missions now; I just can’t activate it without permission.”

Keith’s lips turn into a thin line for only a moment, but he offers Shiro a congratulatory smile quickly in its place.  They both know what a promotion means, what it means Shiro may have done.  They ignore the idea of it, ignore the burdening truth lying beyond all of this.  Both had learnt long ago that if they concentrated too hard on what had to be done, if they dwelled upon the tasks soldiers were made to do, then they’d never see each other as often as they do now. 

Fortnightly visits are a vast cost even to a soldier of Shiro’s calibre.

“Well, with all this extra time and _both_ arms,” Keith’s face turns sly, his lips quirking into a smirk and his eyes becoming lidded in a familiar way that has Shiro shivering already.  “Don’t you think we should put that combination to good use?  We can do a bit more than the usual, huh?”

Shiro groans, cups Keith’s face, and kisses his boyfriend hard.

\---

Even with the added benefits of Shiro’s recent promotion and the extra expense, they don’t waste time.  It’s never an option, when there’s just no time _to_ waste.

Though they fuck slow and steady, it’s hurried.  No foreplay, yet it’s still good when Keith shudders underneath him and comes over their chests.  Shiro hikes Keith’s leg over his shoulder, pushes in deeper, and rocks his hips like that once, twice, thrice before he feels his own orgasm pulse through his veins.  Keith’s whimpers and moans of delight, his warmth and fingers clutched in his hair, it’s enough for Shiro to forget the constant throbbing that lies behind his eyes.

Still, the afterglow has always been Shiro’s favourite part.  Lying in bed, the sheets pooled around their waists, the quiet hum of life going on around them while they find a pocket in time just for themselves.  Even back when the Garrison was their biggest concern, and they’d find time out of their busy schedules to be beside each other, Shiro always appreciated these quiet moments as his favourite.

He never took them for granted, yet having them ripped away was the harshest punishment of all.

Keith is bent over Shiro’s chest, a marker in hand, lightly trailing black lines over Shiro’s skin between his freckles and moles. He relays the constellations to Shiro, the ones he’s memorised thanks to Shiro’s freckles.  Keith is careful tracing them over Shiro’s scars, sure to check which ones are still fresh and avoids them in case of infection, kissing them anyway so no part of Shiro’s chest feels untouched.

Shiro allows himself a smile, watching as Keith draws and talks, his brows knitting together when he loses track of certain constellations because a scar now covers body inflections.   Shiro laughs when Keith starts trailing the marker’s tip dangerously close to one of his nipples.  Keith jokes it’s the biggest star in his universe to date.  Shiro then muses what part of him makes the sun.  Keith only gives him a dirty look.

When Shiro’s skin is criss-crossed with all kinds of lines and markings and labels, he can’t help but reminisce of a time they did this under real stars.  Keith would map out the sky on Shiro’s bare chest, the night chill causing goose bumps to raise on his flesh.  When time may have gotten away from them, but they never felt they had to pay for it.  When they were dealing with complicated astrophysics equations every day, yet life was far simpler.  Shiro can see these memories reflected in Keith’s eyes as he looks at his boyfriend, so much love already squashed from him thanks to the earlier burdens of life itself.  The Galra invasion only seemed to cement the walls Keith had built for himself; the prison not being the only thing he found himself trapped behind.

“What’s the first thing we’ll do when I get out of here?” Keith suddenly asks, Shiro having not realised Keith had stilled and was now looking back at him. 

It was a question Keith asked often, almost every time Shiro visited, but the answer changed every time.

“Take you for pizza,” Shiro said simply.

Keith’s face split into a shining grin.  For both their sakes, Shiro chose to ignore the undying pain lying beneath it.

“The real cheesy kind?”

“The very cheesy kind.  I’ll find a pizza with so much cheese on it, it’ll be more cheese than pizza.”

Keith laughs, dropping the marker onto the metal floor and lying over Shiro’s now decorated chest.

“Mmmm, the perfect pizza,” Keith sighs dreamily.

Shiro chuckles, hand clutched in Keith’s hair.  Honestly, he’s not even sure if pizza still exists.

“Do you think with all the Galra’s advanced technology, they’ll have cured lactose intolerance by then?  I don’t want to eat my cheesy pizza alone,” Keith remarks.

“If they haven’t, I’ll still share it with you anyway; if you’ll let me.”

“Know you’re the only person in this universe I’d share my pizza with, but remember, it’s me who has to suffer the consequences when you eat dairy.  Nothing is worth that; not even the cheesiest pizza you can find.”

They both laugh at that, giggling beside each other as it conjures up more memories.  Memories of when Keith drove them out to a diner along the high way, where Keith bought them a milkshake to share and, because Shiro didn’t want to be rude, they drank it down in record time.  Though the reflux Shiro suffered was ultimately his most embarrassing moment, he can’t help but smile as it all plays over in his head like a movie he’s seen a thousand times.

It’s nice to know there are some things the Galra can never take from them.

“What will you do once you’ve saved enough? After I’m free?” Keith asks another.  “What kind of things should we do together?”

Shiro pretends to contemplate his options.

“I’ll take you far away from here, as far as they’ll let me.  To Spain or India.  I know you’ve always wanted to visit Vietnam.”

In truth, Shiro has no idea of the hardships any other parts of the world have faced.  He’s kept to himself, within himself, since day one of the invasion.  He never planned to break the mould, but he always pretends he will, for Keith’s sake.

Keith hums.

“Yeah, maybe,” his voice is uncertain.  Shiro looks to him, confusion written on his features.  Keith only smiles back at him.  “Or maybe we could just get a house, or the equivalent of one.  Settle down.  I can find a job doing whatever it is they want me to do.  It’ll be nice to have some stability once I’m outside again.”

The thought of settling down with Keith, of owning a property, of building upon it, of adding all kind of decorations and furniture to all parts of their home until it became unequivocally theirs, that thought has always elated Shiro. 

Yet now it pains him to his core.

It had always been an unspoken agreement that they’d be together.  Neither had ever planned for a future where they’d be apart, yet Shiro had always known Keith wanted to be anywhere but here.  The only reason he had stayed in one place for so long, was so one day he could take to the stars, and be as far away from here as life could allow.  Then, Shiro knew Keith would want to travel, as much as he could for as long as he could.  After years of that, maybe then he’d have wanted to settle down with a house and a white picket fence. 

Keith had always discussed these plans with Shiro like he was part of the equation, without question.  Shiro only wanted to fulfil his role as a space craft pilot, and after that, had no definitive plans.  Following Keith had seemed like a no-brainer.  It had been easy to decide where his place was on Earth.

Keith’s adventurous spirit had been his greatest asset.  His undeniable urge to shoot for further,  beyond even the farthest of his reach, meant he was daring and brave and tried harder than anyone to get anywhere.  Now, Keith would settle for ‘beyond these walls’.  It saddened Shiro beyond belief, to know Keith had been taught to ask for so little of his life.

Shiro hugged Keith to him, tightening his grip on his lover and burying his face in thick, black hair, refusing to let go even when Keith made a confused grunt at the sudden flurry of attention.

“A house sounds perfect,” Shiro whispers into Keith’s ear, promising everything he can with everything he has left.  Shiro figures a house is the least he can do.

They’re startled apart by a loud siren, the red light above the door flashing angrily at them, telling them their time is almost up.  Shiro holds Keith to him just a little tighter, just for a little longer.  Keith does the same, breathing hard into Shiro’s shoulder.  Shiro can tell from the way he’s shaking, he’s fighting back the tears that are as much a part of this routine as the visit itself.

When they’re both dressed and standing upright, though Keith has only put half his clothes back on, hair a mess as he grips Shiro’s hand in his.  Shiro takes the time to notice Keith’s ribs stick out almost uncomfortably, his hip bones far more prominent.  Keith had always been rather underweight, having trouble keeping up with his fast metabolism, but at least he had been built and muscular.  Healthy. 

“I’m going to up your meal plan,” Shiro announces, leaving no room for arguments.

“You what?  And cost us even more?” Keith argues anyway.

“There’s no point saving it all if you’re just going to starve to death before I can get you out.”

“I’m not going to starve to death.”

“I’m upgrading your meal plan, Keith, and if you don’t eat it, then you’ll be the one wasting our savings.”

Keith pouts at him, showing his obvious distaste for the idea, but knows Shiro won’t change his mind.  They are both just as stubborn as each other, the only true wrench in their otherwise smooth relationship.

“Fine.  Just don’t do it by much,” Keith says instead.

At that, the final call echoes throughout the room, and the doors begin to slide open.  Their forty-five deboshes are up. 

Shiro and Keith quickly clasp each other’s hand and pull themselves close to each other for an intimate hug.  Shiro presses his lips one final time to Keith’s hair, and Keith leaves a pleased hum against Shiro’s neck.  Then the sentries are pulling them apart, guiding Shiro, not all-too gently, out of the cellblock and into the hallway.

He looks over his shoulder, sharing one final look with Keith, who stares after him with only want and longing in his eyes.  Keith gives a small, sheepish wave, to which Shiro returns, before the doors slide shut and block Keith from his view. 

He’s left with another empty two weeks to look forward to.

Shiro heaves a sigh, already the ache in his chest filling his veins, his headache returning as if it had never left.  He’s guided out of the prison and back to the so-called jeeps, climbing in so they can take him back across the desert and toward what he is supposed to call home. 

He knows the Galra think of it as more of a kennel to keep their dogs in until it’s time for their use.

As the night air hits his face once again, the moon only slightly higher in the sky now, Shiro thinks back to their conversation earlier, the one that had taken place not even an hour ago.

_“Forty-five deboshes!? How much did that cost you?”_

_“It’s not that big of a deal, Keith.”_

_“We agreed, Shiro!  Twenty deboshes every two weeks!  So, we can save the rest and I can actually get out of here!”_

Shiro instantly feels the guilt he had purposefully ignored hit him at full force.

There’s a rumour, whether started by truth or started by the Galra themselves, that save enough and you can buy your loved one’s freedom from the Honerva System entirely.  They’d still be under Galra rule, and the pair in question would never stop serving the Galra empire, but, they said, at least you’d be together. 

For the most part, it’s a pipe dream.  A far away star that never gets any closer.  Shiro has never heard of anyone truly buying someone from the Honerva System, and he doesn’t dare ask.  Whether it’s because the Galra reign is still new, too fresh for anyone to have saved enough for it to be possible, or whether it’s even true at all, Shiro isn’t sure.  It’s one of his greatest fears that it will forever remain a mystery.

Honestly, he can’t imagine the Galra ever letting someone go, if it means they get eternal servitude in return.  It stands to reason; continue to hold the threat of his loved one over his head, and he will continue to serve the Galra empire unquestioningly, or forever be threatened every day with Keith’s death.  Why would they let that kind of devotion go?

Worthless hope is probably the greatest weapon the Galra have learnt to use upon the human race.

“A visit to another GID, Champion?” The sentry up front is asking him, waiting at the intersection between home base and the other prison towers.  Shiro shakes his head.

“Not tonight,” Shiro answers, having used his entire self-assigned allowance for his fortnightly visits on Keith alone. 

The sentry nods and drives back towards what Shiro used to know as the Garrison.  Shiro doesn’t want to look at it, at the dark building in the distance that used to be the house of all his dreams and future plans.  Though looking the other way means looking to the long line of prison towers set up over the expanse of the desert, reminding him what lies inside them.  He has nowhere to look but up at the stars, his forever constant, and even that is no comfort anymore.

 

**Author's Note:**

> yell sheith at me on twitter: @kinkykeithy


End file.
